


Graceful

by dreamcatcher (darcangell23)



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Ballet, Dancing, Harassment and Physical Violence, M/M, Rating for later chapters, Sexual Content, Teaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcangell23/pseuds/dreamcatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident ends his career on the professional stage at a young age, Kurt takes up a position as an instructor of ballet and contemporary dance. His bitterness over the accident causes him to be harsh and strict on his students. But will his life change when he meets Blaine Anderson, one of the students of dance in the academy? Or will he just make matters worse? AU Klaine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitterness Of Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I was watching this week's SYTYCD and this idea popped into my head and just wouldn't leave so I had to write it. Keep in mind, I'm no expert on ballet or contemporary or the New York City Ballet so I apologize for any inaccuracies ahead of time. Rating is for later chapters and it might go up. Not all characters make an appearance right away. Comments make me smile! Enjoy!

The enlightening tones of the sounds of classical music drifted through the air at Radio City Music Hall. The gorgeous tones and notes came from the orchestra pit where an array of string instruments beautifully played the chords of the number accompanying the dancers onstage.

 

The New York City Ballet did not just produce numbers of technical ballet and graceful movement. It's variety shows contained a massive number of contemporary pieces as well. Not to mention, little spurts of other styles of dance performed by the many students of all ages enrolled in its dance academy. Hip-hop and tap and jazz and Latin ballroom and regular ballroom, even international dance. Things like African dance and Bollywood and belly-dance or traditional Asian dance were offered.

 

But the New York City Ballet was known for just that, it's ballet.

 

And at the moment, one of its star dancers, who specialized in both ballet and contemporary dance with minor training in all other styles, was practically floating across the stage flawlessly, without a care in the world.

 

And without knowing that this dance would be his last professionally taken to the stage.

 

A perfect pirouette here, a lunging plié there, a stunning arabesque. All completed with precise accuracy and elegance. The gracefulness of this young man was unlike that of any other.

 

His strong slender physique moved eloquently from one step to the next, always captivating his audience. He moved like the world was his stage. And in a way it was.

 

On this particularly night, he was executing a routine he had performed for many a night already. It was a night of the ballet's variety season. The dancer's long legs were accentuated by the white tights that fit him like a glove. His upper torso was completely bare, showing off the toned and sculpted muscles of a pale chest. His arms were well defined, biceps showing strength in their arcs as he rose them neatly above his head. His toe shoes were white to blend with the tights, though had he not had any on pointe stances in the routine, he would have been barefoot.

 

He moved with all the grace of a swan as he crossed the stage with ease, eyes shut to the music, letting it fill his body and lifting him to the status of a bird, flying freely across the sky.

 

And then, a storm cloud struck his sky.

 

A leap. A simple routine leap. That's all it was. The dancer made the run and leaped up into the air, soaring across the stage with his legs stretched wide. And then he was coming down again. That was when it happened.

 

His forward foot turned in ever so slightly just before landing but the offset was enough to turn his foot badly as he made impact with the stage. The force elicited a crack in the ankle and the dancer went falling to the stage floor, his teeth gritted in pain and a cry leaving his lips.

 

That night was the last he would see of the professional stage.

 

* * *

 

"Anthony, lift your chin higher! Do not make me tell you again! If you can't learn to hold your head high when performing you will never be a professional dancer! Do I make myself clear?"

 

The student called Anthony swallowed thickly. "Yes Monsieur Hummel," he said.

 

Dancing professionally was Anthony's dream. Being a professional dancer with the New York City Ballet was something he had wanted for as long as he could remember. Taking classes in their academy was a dream come true. His ballet and contemporary instructor however, was the strictest man he'd ever met.

 

Kurt Hummel was a former star of the New York City Ballet. Though he was trained in nearly every style of dance, his specialty lied with ballet and contemporary. His students were in awe of his skill, but he had never told any of them why he had quit the professional stage to be an instructor for other young dancers in the company's academy. Apparently, no one other than the staff and the actual company knew and he preferred to keep it that way.

 

"Carla, you're still shaking on the pliés," Kurt snipped to a girl whose legs trembled as she attempted a grande plié without the support of the barre. "Back on the barre," he sighed.

 

The tall pale man proceeded to walk through his students, snipping out comments for improvements. He was unaware of the slightly younger man who had stopped in the doorway momentarily to watch.

 

Blaine Anderson, dapper and charming and from conservative Ohio, like Kurt was, was captivated by the dance instructor. He often stopped to watch him teach. Ballet and contemporary wasn't Blaine's style. He was at the academy for tap and ballroom and a bit of disco on the side. But he was fascinated with Kurt, for a reason he could not put his finger on.

 

"See something you like hobbit?" came a voice from behind Blaine. He turned swiftly, eyes falling on one of the Latin dance instructors, Santana Lopez. She had an eyebrow raised and was watching him knowingly.

 

Blaine bit his lip and shook his head quickly. "Just admiring the perseverance of the students in the ballet and contemporary class," he said.

 

Santana wasn't fooled. "Are you sure you weren't just admiring Lady Hummel's ass?" she asked. Blaine blushed right up over his ears. "Thought so. Can't say I blame you. If I weren't a lesbian and he weren't gay, I'd tap that in a heartbeat." She glanced at a clock on the hallway wall. "Speaking of tap, isn't that the lesson you're meant to be in right now?"

 

Blaine followed her gaze to the clock and merely panicked. He had precisely five minutes to get to his tap class and tardiness was frowned upon in the New York City Ballet Dance Academy. One of the things they looked at when recruiting graduated students to the company was how often you showed up to class on time. Being there prepared and ready to go was a sign of dedication and if Blaine wanted to make the jump to the company, he needed to show his dedication.

 

Attempting to squash down his panic, Blaine hurried off toward his tap class and Santana took his place in the doorway. Her smirk fell. She caught Kurt's eye and smiled at him sadly.

 

"Just keep practicing your pliés for a moment. Annette, your bun is coming loose again. I suggest you dismiss yourself to the bathroom and not return until that thing is so tight, I can turn it like a doorknob and not a strand will shift out of place." The blonde girl paled and followed her instructor as he made his way to the door.

 

"How are you?" Santana asked as he reached her. Kurt frowned.

 

"Today is a bad day," he replied and allowed his eyes to travel down his right leg. Santana followed his gaze before fixing him with a slightly steely one.

 

"If you hadn't skipped your strengthening exercises this morning—" she started and Kurt cut her off.

 

"My whole day has been off Santana," he said. "My alarm failed to go off, leaving me to wake half an hour after I meant to. I barely had time to shower and moisturize, let alone do strengthening exercises. I had to skip my morning coffee and grab a bagel on the way out the door."

 

Santana frowned at him. "No wonder you're being particularly brutal to your students today."

 

Kurt turned his eyes on his class. "I'm always brutal to them. I don't want them to wind up like me."

 

The sympathy in the Latina's eyes was something so unnatural for her. But Kurt was used to it. He was one of the few people she could ever feel sympathy for.

 

"The accident wasn't your fault Kurt. It could have happened to anyone," she said quietly.

 

Kurt had heard this argument a hundred times. "Anyone would be someone who hadn't been performing that same routine time and time again," he stated.

 

Santana sighed. Kurt was never going to let it go. He felt guilty, no doubt about that but he didn't want sympathy. It was one reason why he chose not to let his students know why he was no long a dancer with the company.

 

It was no secret that Kurt missed the professional stage. He longed for it. Watching from the wings as some of his students did him proud during company variety shows was as close as the twenty-three year old got now. The accident now half a year past had left him weakened in one of the most important joints in contemporary and ballet movement. Footwork was a large aspect in grace and balance. In fact, footwork was a large aspect in nearly every style of dance. But without strength enough to carry the weight of the upper body, a dancer could hardly be light on their feet.

 

Kurt remembered that night six months ago as clearly as if it had only happened yesterday. And it still felt like it had. In no time he found his career in professional dance changing from dancer to instructor and that was the closest he could get to dancing.

 

Having been one of the stars, the New York City Ballet had not want to let Kurt go, even after the news that his ankle would never regain strength enough to properly retake the stage night after night. Once in a while he could perform but not a night after night showcase.

 

He flexed the foot and winced. Yes, skipping his strengthening exercises had meant a day with a bad ankle. It was still recovering from the severe break when he had twisted out on that landing. Pain was still common and if he used it too much, it sometimes would get swollen still. He often had wrap it up just to get through the day on it.

 

But Kurt was also stubborn. He persevered, staying after his students had left to keep his own skills from getting rusty, regardless of whether his ankle hurt him or not. Doctors had given him the okay to continue dancing but they had said he could only do it as a hobby now and it was no longer something he could count on as a career. That was why he'd accepted the offer to be an instructor in the dance academy.

 

"They do look up to you Kurt," Santana said, pulling the pale man out of his thoughts. She was gazing past him into the room. His students were practicing their pliés. He glanced at them for a moment.

 

"They hate me," he admitted.

 

The Latina shook her head. "No they don't. It's like I tell my students. You're hard on them because you love them and you want them to succeed. It's called tough love Kurt. You lost something when you had the accident. But you gained something else from it."

 

Kurt looked at her for a moment. "What's that?" he asked.

 

"The determination for young dancers to succeed."

 

He looked at her for a moment. "Funny that comes from you. I would think your way of stating that would be more like using them to live your dream."

 

Santana chuckled. "That's the difference between you and I Kurt," she said and he didn't have the faintest idea what she was talking about. His expression said as much. "You've lived the dream. I've never danced professionally. Living my dream through my students is as close as I'll get. You don't have to do that though because you've already been there."

 

Kurt's eyes went back to his students. She did have a point. "I suppose you're right."

 

Santana scoffed. "Aunty Tana is always right. Speaking of which, I have a class to be starting. I'll see you tonight at home Lady Hummel." With that she strolled off down the hallway.

 

Kurt heaved a sigh and walked back into the studio.

 

"Dennis bend your knees more. Bailey keep your back straight! Do I have to make you start wearing a rod down the back of your leotard until you learn?" Some things would never change.

 

* * *

 

Blaine's class ran late that day and it was beginning to darken when he finally was making his way back through the halls to leave the building. He was quite sure he was the only one left.

 

But then he heard music coming from the room he was just passing by at that very moment. The door was shut but Blaine could see through the small window in it and what he saw took his breath away.

 

The ballet and contemporary instructor he had been watching that morning was alone in the studio. He was dancing, elegance and grace radiated from his slender body. Blaine was captivated and rooted to the spot as he stared through the window. He needed to see more of this beautiful dancer.

 

Slowly and carefully, he pulled open the door and stepped into the room, letting it shut with the softest of clicks.

 

The man in front of him was in the midst of a pirouette. His head was held high and straight. The preciseness with which he sharply turned his head to always be facing forward as he spun was exquisite. He easily transitioned from the pirouette to a split on the floor and brought his legs around into a straight-legged backflip.

 

But as his right foot hit the floor, he winced and Blaine caught sight of the gauze wrapped around it. The man gingerly set weight on the foot and crossed to where his iPod sat in the dock. He turned the music off.

 

"Please don't stop on my account," Blaine said suddenly, forgetting that he meant to be inconspicuous. Why hadn't he just left?

 

The man turned his head sharply in his direction. Sweat coated his brow and Blaine couldn't stop himself from letting a gasp fall from his lips as he got his first real look at the other man's face. Gently structured with his smooth pale skin and pink lips that Blaine just wanted to taste. And his eyes were a swirl of blue, green, and gray.

 

"What are you doing here?" the man asked flatly, grabbing a towel from a small stool and wiping his face with it.

 

Blaine paled and bit his lip. "I uh…I'm sorry," he stuttered. "My tap class ran late and I was only on my way out. I heard the music and I couldn't help looking in. You're a beautiful dancer."

 

The man looked at him for a moment. "Thank you but you had no right to spy on me. I don't tend to dance for an audience anymore," he said shortly, turning away from Blaine.

 

"Anymore?" Blaine asked confused.

 

This seemed to get the man's attention and he looked back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

 

"You haven't been a student here for very long have you?"

 

Blaine shook his head. "No, sorry."

 

The pale man sighed and ran a hand over his face. "You'll learn sooner or later so you might as well learn it from me. I used to be a dancer for the company," he said.

 

Blaine's eyes went wide. "Only used to? But you're so young. Why would you give that up?" he asked.

 

"That's a private matter I prefer not to discuss with students, thank you," the man quipped cooly.

 

Blaine was aware that he had crossed a line and pried too much for the man to be comfortable with. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, not sure what else to say. He thought of the gauze he had glimpsed around the other's ankle and wondered if that had anything to do with it but decided it probably wouldn't be smart for him to bring that up.

 

"Look, I'd really rather just be alone right now, so if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave," the pale man said. Blaine was slightly taken aback by his hostility. Did he not like Blaine? Or was it students in general?

 

"Oh," he finally said. "Okay. I'll just go than." The awkwardness of the situation was beginning to get too much for him anyway. The pale man nodded and didn't take his eyes off Blaine. It was kind of intimidating. "Well bye," Blaine said, moving out the door.

 

Hearing the click behind him, Blaine let out a sigh. If he wanted to make friends with this instructor, maybe even more, he had to get him to open up to him. He decided that he couldn't just give up after that fairly odd and somewhat uncomfortable encounter. It was at that moment Blaine came up with an idea.

 

He was going to have to sign up for the ballet and contemporary class.


	2. The First Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here'a chapter two. Remember, I'm not a ballet expert so forgive any inaccuracies. Comments make me smile! Enjoy!

"The hobbit was watching you today Kurt," was the first thing Santana said when Kurt entered the loft he shared with her and Rachel later that night. He eyed her for a moment but chose not to comment and gingerly walked to his room.

 

Rachel Berry, their third roommate and friend from high school looked up from her spot on the couch and raised an eyebrow quizzically. She set the cup of tea she'd been sipping down on the coffee table and focused her gaze on Santana.

 

"Hobbit?" she asked. Santana tore her concerned gaze from the pale man who had just disappeared behind his curtain divider to his room.

 

The Latina sighed and ran a hand over her face, shaking her head. "There's this really hot guy who takes tap, ballroom, and disco at the academy. I've noticed he sometimes stops and watches Kurt teaching his classes. He's short so he's a hobbit. But he was watching him today." Rachel glanced toward the curtain to Kurt's room.

 

"How is he?" she asked quietly. Santana shook her head.

 

"Not at his best I'm afraid."

 

"I can hear you!" Kurt shouted from his room area before peeking his head out. His right pant leg was up and he appeared to be in the process of rewrapping his foot. His face was contorted into a hard expression.

 

"Sorry Kurt," Rachel said. "We're only worried about you."

 

Kurt sighed and stared down at the floor. "Look, I appreciate the concern but I would rather you not talk about me behind my back. How was rehearsal Rachel?"

 

Rachel was a Broadway star, currently playing Cinderella in the Broadway production of Cinderella. She gave him a soft smile.

 

"As well as it could be." She frowned slightly. "Except I have no chemistry with our new prince. I'm worried my job might be on the line here."

 

Santana gave her a look. "Why would your job be on the line?" she asked.

 

Rachel turned to look at her. "Because I've been there longer. They're not about to cut someone they just hired."

 

Kurt shook his head. "But they can't cut you out of your contract either. Aren't you slated to play the role for at least another six months?"

 

Rachel nodded, biting her lip slightly. "There are exceptions though."

 

"Well, you tell me if they even so much as consider cutting you and I'll start a protest," Kurt said before disappearing back behind his curtain.

 

Rachel turned to Santana and whispered quietly, "He was dancing on it today, wasn't he?"

 

Santana opened her mouth to reply when Kurt called, "I can still hear you!" Damn that pale man and his uncanny hearing.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Blaine hurried to the academy studio, intent on getting right into Kurt's beginning ballet and contemporary class. He had never considered taking that style of dance but he wanted to get closer to Kurt, even if it seemed the pale man wanted nothing to do with him.

 

He ran into the main office in time to see the receptionist setting down the phone.

 

"Good morning Mr. Anderson," she said in a confused voice. "What are you doing here this early? I thought your ballroom lesson wasn't until noon." She smiled kindly at him and Blaine smiled back.

 

"Um, it isn't but actually," he started, pulling out his wallet. "I wanted to see about getting into the beginning ballet and contemporary class," he finished, checking the money he had with him. "I can pay for it upfront."

 

She looked momentarily surprised. She knew Blaine well enough to know by now that he had never harbored any interest for ballet and contemporary. So why now? It couldn't be the style of dance that was drawing him in all of a sudden. And then realization hit her.

 

"Smitten with Monsieur Hummel are you?" she asked knowingly. Blaine blushed. "I thought so. All right but I must worn you Mr. Anderson, he's possibly the strictest of all our instructors. He used to be a star in the company you know."

 

Blaine nodded. "I know. Why did he quit?"

 

She froze, looking at him with wide eyes. Pulling away from the computer she focused her gaze seriously on his eyes. "Two things Mr. Anderson. One, it's not my place to tell. And two, Monsieur Hummel will not hesitate to release you from his class should he conclude you are only there to pry."

 

Blaine was slightly taken aback by this response. Why was the pale man so adamant that he not know why he wasn't dancing with the company anymore?

 

Remembering the gauze he'd seen on the dancer's ankle the day before, he opened his mouth to enquire about it but hastily decided that might not be the smartest thing to do. Indeed, it would be overstepping. And bringing it up now would not help matters.

 

"I understand," he said instead. "Thank you."

 

She regarded him for a moment. "Monsieur Hummel's beginning class starts at nine. That's in half an hour Mr. Anderson. Do not be late."

 

Blaine nodded and thanked her again before shouldering his dance bag and hurrying toward the student locker rooms.

 

* * *

 

Kurt slammed his locker shut in the staff locker room. His dance bag sat on the bench beside him and he had just stored his normal manner of dress in the locker after changing into dance attire.

 

He was in a better mood this morning. His alarm went off on time. He could take his shower, moisturize, do his strengthening exercises, and have a decent breakfast, which included his morning cup of coffee.

 

He was rewrapping his ankle when the bang of a locker caught his attention. Kurt looked up to see the hip-hop instructor, Sebastian Smythe, leaning against the lockers and watching him.

 

Kurt loathed Sebastian with a passion. He should not be qualified to teach hip-hop. What Sebastian constituted as hip-hop involved all the dirty dancing and getting up on each other you could find in a nightclub. The reason he still had a job, he put on a show whenever the bosses were making their rounds. Meaning he actually taught the stuff he was supposed to be teaching on those days. Kurt thought it would be nice if just once, they didn't have prior notice to one of these inspections.

 

"What do you want Smythe?" he spat, pulling an ice pack from his dance bag and holding it to his ankle. Despite strengthening exercises, it was still a little sore from having been danced on the night before.

 

Sebastian scoffed. "You would be better off as the center piece of the local gay parade," he bit. Kurt rolled his eyes. This was all the meerkat man was good for. Making snarky insulting comments.

 

"You're just mad because I specialize in ballet and contemporary and can still dance circles around you in your own genre," he replied shortly.

 

Sebastian waved a hand. "That challenge was beginner's luck," he said. "Besides, you only got more votes because they felt sorry for you after your precious tragic accident."

 

Kurt set the ice down, placed his foot on the floor and stood to his full height, glaring at the other man. He folded his arms across his chest.

 

"Is that so?" he asked darkly.

 

"That's so," Sebastian stated firmly, not at all backing down of afraid to get up in Kurt's face.

 

Kurt glanced momentarily toward the locker room door, seeing Santana enter the room before his eyes locked back onto Sebastian's.

 

"Fine. Rematch, tonight, company stage. Be there at nine sharp!" he stated cooly.

 

"Done," Sebastian replied. "I'll make sure to notify everyone of your impending loss." He smirked and Kurt just glared hard right back at him.

 

"Bring it!" he said. Sebastian's nostrils flared and the meerkat man turned and walked out of the locker room. Kurt dropped back down on the bench and reapplied the ice to his ankle.

 

"What was that about?" Santana asked, opening her locker.

 

Kurt didn't bother to look up. "We're having another battle tonight. Apparently, he thinks I had beginners luck and was only voted for because you all felt sorry for me."

 

Santana scoffed. "That's absurd. We voted for you because you're a better dancer."

 

"I know that but Sebastian wants to deny it. If it helps him sleep better at night than good for him," Kurt replied.

 

"I don't think he sleeps at night at all," Santana said.

 

"TMI Satan," Kurt said with a grimace.

 

"Sorry," she stated.

 

Kurt removed the ice pack and packed it back into a small cooler he kept in his dance bag before standing carefully. He picked up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

 

"Well, I have a beginners class to be starting in about fifteen minutes so we'll meet for lunch?" he asked.

 

Santana shut her locker. "Sorry, I can't today. I'm joining the regular ballroom instructor at noon today for a mixed lesson." She gave him an apologetic smile.

 

"No problem," Kurt said in a reassuring voice. "I'll see you later."

 

"See ya," Santana replied. Kurt gave her one more smile and left the room.

 

* * *

 

"Okay guys, start stretching," Kurt said as he walked into his class a few minutes later. He didn't play around. If he was early, he would start them stretching. If you weren't there early enough, either you better be ready to work without stretching or you can leave the class. Either you stretch with everyone or you don't stretch at all. That would be your choice.

 

Kurt placed his dance bag on the small stool and started rooting through it, not bothering to look around at his class. Blaine stood by the barre, hand on the long round metal bar protruding out from the wall, watching Kurt with fascination.

 

Out came the iPod, which was placed in the dock and set to a certain piece of music before Kurt's long delicate pale finger pushed the pause button and he stood to attention at the front of the class.

 

When his eyes found Blaine, he narrowed them slightly but didn't say anything. Instead, he proceeded to walk among the students.

 

"Danny, pointed toe stretch, not flexed foot. You will never increase the strength of your inner foot by stretching without pointing," he said firmly to a blonde boy Blaine didn't know.

 

Kurt kept walking among his stretching students before he stopped in front of a redheaded girl, folded his arms across his chest, and started tapping his foot impatiently.

 

When she didn't take notice, he sighed. "Melissa," he said firmly. The girl raised her eyes to look up at him and Blaine was astounded at how young she appeared to be. She couldn't be any older than thirteen or fourteen years old. Thirteen was the academy's minimum age.

 

"Yes Monsieur Hummel?" she asked nervously.

 

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten my class rules?" he asked. She stared at him in confusion.

 

"No, I don't think so," she said with a shake of her head.

 

He stared down at her. "You don't think so?" he asked. She swallowed and shook her head shortly. He grabbed her by the arm, gently but firmly, and started to pull her up. "Get up!" he said. She scrambled to help pull herself to her feet.

 

"What's wrong Monsieur Hummel?" she asked as he pulled her over to stand directly in front of the wall mirror. Blaine noted how none of the other students was paying attention. Clearly, there were strong rules against watching someone else be punished. Blaine quickly tore his eyes away at the thought and returned to his stretches.

 

"What do you see Melissa?" Kurt asked.

 

She stared in the mirror for several moments, trying to figure it out but ended up shrugging. "Nothing out of the ordinary," she said.

 

"Wrong!" Kurt stated. He reached a hand up to the back of her head and took a hold of her ponytail, pulling it so it stood straight up above her head. Her eyes widened. "What is this?" he asked her.

 

"A ponytail Monsieur Hummel," she replied in a small voice. By now, the rest of the class was all eyes and ears so Blaine didn't feel so bad paying attention.

 

"Do I allow ponytails in my class Melissa?" Kurt asked, voice still firm but attempting to be gentle. Blaine became aware that Kurt was not usually so harsh. This was a reaction to something. For some reason, the pale man felt that by being harsh and strict with his students, it made up for something he'd lost. The question was what?

 

"No Monsieur Hummel," Melissa replied.

 

"Quite right Melissa." Kurt let go of her hair and pointed to the door. "You are dismissed from this lesson. Next time you come to class, I expect your hair to be in a tight bun just like everyone else's. You may be the youngest in this class but that doesn't mean I'll be any easier on you," he told her.

 

Melissa nodded her head slowly, tears glistening in her green eyes. Blaine watched her cross the room and pick up her bag before quietly walking out the door.

 

Kurt turned his attention back to the class and clapped his hands for attention.

 

"Allow me to remind you of this rule. Girls must always wear their hair in a tight bun. I don't want a hair flying out of place when you dance," he said. Nodding his head, Kurt looked pointedly at Blaine. "Boys with longer hair require either a bandana or a tight bun like the girls. Boys with shorter hair, no hair products are allowed during my lesson. Sweat mixed with product does not make a pretty picture when you're finished dancing," he said. Blaine was glad he'd chosen to forego his hair gel that day.

 

"But you always have hairspray in your hair Monsieur Hummel," a boy said and Blaine could feel the argument coming on.

 

"Brilliant deduction Scooby," Kurt replied sarcastically. "Class, kindly answer this question for Nathan. Who does the most dancing in here?"

 

"We do!" they replied as a whole.

 

"And do you ever see me full out dancing?" Kurt went on.

 

"No," the class replied.

 

"Precisely," Kurt said. "Nathan, you are well aware by now that the most dancing I do in this class is to demonstrate a step. Besides, I am a professional. I know how to pull off the product without producing the mess at the end result."

 

Well, that could have gone worse. Blaine watched as Kurt stared at the boy called Nathan for another few moments.

 

"Any other complaints?" he asked finally. No one spoke up. "Good. If you're all stretched, let's get started."

 

Blaine took rapt attention as Kurt started in on the lesson, demonstrating the different positions and having them all practice pliés at the barre in each position. The twenty-two year old learned quickly that ballet was a lot harder than it looked.

 

He wasn't sure how long Kurt had them doing pliés but it seemed that the lesson wasn't over after that.

 

Kurt clapped his hands. "I want everyone in the far left corner, line up please," he said. Instinctively, as soon as the class had lined up in the far left corner, he pressed play on the iPod, letting the classical music float through the air before walking to the opposite diagonal right corner.

 

"What are we doing?" Blaine whispered to a blonde girl who was in front if him, but she shook her head sharply and tapped her lips with her finger, indicating for him to be quiet.

 

"I want you to practice your leaps," Kurt said. "And today, you'll be doing them unassisted. Remember height, keep your toes pointed and your legs straight. A leap is meant to look like a split in the air. If you can do the splits, you can pull off a perfect leap."

 

Blaine was wracking his brain to find the French turn for this. Wasn't it like jeté or something like that? Or did that mean something else?

 

Kurt clapped his hands again. "Let's go guys!" he called out.

 

One by one they each took their turn leaping across the floor, Kurt offering comments to each of them after they performed their leap. However, when it got to Blaine's turn, Kurt held up his hand.

 

"Stop," he said. He pointed to the mirrored wall. "You, stand over there now. Don't ask questions, just do it," he said. Blaine looked utterly confused but he did as he was told and Kurt motioned for the person behind him to jump.

 

And against the mirrored wall was where Blaine stood the rest of the lesson. After more rounds of practicing unassisted leaps, Kurt finally called an end to the class and released them for the day but he told Blaine to stay there.

 

When the door had shut behind the last student, Kurt looked at Blaine. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked harshly and Blaine shivered. But he decided to play the dapper and charm he always played anyway.

 

"Taking your class," he said with a smile.

 

Kurt shook his head. "Don't lie to me," he said. "I know you have no interest in ballet and contemporary. So I'll ask you again, what do you think you're doing?"

 

Blaine stared at him for a long moment. "Okay, honestly, I really just want to get to know you more," he said and Kurt's eyes went wide. "But after what happened yesterday, I figured maybe my best bet was to take your class."

 

Kurt was quiet for a moment. "Save your breath. I'm not opening up to you." Blaine's face fell. "Look, I'm assuming you already paid for the class so I'm not going to kick you out of it. But if you want to stay, you better give me one hundred and ten percent. I don't take kindly to people who use my class to dilly dally. I don't play games. So if you're going to be here, you're going to learn. Got it?"

 

Blaine quickly nodded his head. He was going to find a way to get Kurt to trust him because he was really starting to like him, despite the harsh comments thrown his way by the stubborn pale man.

 

"Good. You're dismissed," Kurt said.

 

But Blaine didn't leave right away. He stood there staring for a moment. "Why did you stop me from doing the leap?" he asked quietly.

 

Kurt stopped digging in his bag and looked up at him. "Because you would have made a fool of yourself," he said shortly. Blaine opened his mouth to protest but Kurt seemed to guess what he was going to say. "The other students in the class may be beginners but all of them have some semblance of prior training in elements of ballet and contemporary," he started. "You have absolutely none. You don't need balance to do tap or ballroom or disco."

 

Blaine cut in. "That's not true. You need balance for ballroom. Lifting girls isn't a piece of cake you know."

 

To his surprise, Kurt laughed. "You need upper body strength and balance for ballroom but no footing balance and even so, your female partner needs more balance than you do."

 

Blaine fell quiet. He was right. Boy, this guy knew an awful lot about dance.

 

"How many styles do you know?" he asked suddenly. He was aware that Kurt was clearly getting annoyed.

 

"Don't you have another lesson you need to get to?" he asked firmly, ignoring Blaine's question.

 

Blaine shook his head. "Not until noon, so, how many?"

 

Kurt sighed heavily. "If I tell you will you leave me alone please?" His voice was aggravated but even then he wouldn't leave off the polite term at the end.

 

"Sure, whatever you want," Blaine said in a defeated tone.

 

"All of them," Kurt said shortly. Blaine's eyes widened. He knew all of them? How was that even possible? Kurt was about to tell him to leave and uphold his promise when he thought of something. "If you want a demonstration of another style, be at the company stage at nine this evening," he said, shouldering his bag. "Now if you don't mind, I need to pee. You are dismissed. Good day Blaine."

 

Blaine watched him go. That Monsieur Hummel was too damn hot for his own good. He quickly picked up his bag and followed him out of the room.


	3. Kurt The Animator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I want to take this moment to extend my condolences, thoughts, and prayers for the family and loved ones of Cory Monteith. It's a tragic moment to lose such a talented young star. He will be sorely missed and his work remembered. Rest in peace Cory. Remember how much we all love you.
> 
> Secondly, if you don't know what animation is in regard to dance look up SYTYCD Season 10 Jade and Bluprint on YouTube. It will give you a better idea of what exactly Kurt does in this chapter. Comments make me smile! Enjoy!
> 
> Oh and third, I finished this chapter a while ago actually but I wasn't sure if I was going to end it there or write more.

After the way things had gone down in the lesson that morning, Blaine was hesitant about entering the company stage auditorium at nine that evening. Even though Kurt had technically invited him, he wasn't sure if he was really welcome.

 

Not much was helped when he'd entered his noon ballroom lesson to learn that the regular ballroom class and the Latin ballroom class were having a mixed lesson that day. He'd had to deal with Santana's knowing look and smirk throughout the entire lesson. It threw his concentration off and his instructor was less than pleased.

 

"Get your head out of the clouds Mr. Anderson," she had said.

 

"Sorry," he apologized, shooting a look Santana's way when she found the situation funny.

 

"Was that supposed to be a glare hobbit?" the Latina had asked. "If so, you could take a few lessons in that from Lady Hummel too."

 

And what was with everyone and referring to the ballet and contemporary instructor by his last name? Did students not have a right to know their names? No, that couldn't be it. That couldn't be it because Blaine knew Santana's first name. Though that may have been due to the fact that she actually despised being referred to as Mademoiselle Lopez. Everyone knew her as Tana, Sanny, San, or Santana. But Blaine swore he overheard Monsieur Hummel call her Satan once.

 

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going in?" Blaine jumped at the sound of the voice. He turned around to find none other than Monsieur Hummel himself standing there, arms folded and eyebrow raised. "I didn't invite you so you could stand here looking at the door Blaine."

 

"Uh…right," Blaine replied sheepishly, giving the instructor a weak smile.

 

Kurt rolled his eyes and adjusted his dance bag which was hoisted onto his shoulder. It was at this moment that Blaine took in the dancer's appearance and his eyes widened slightly.

 

Kurt was not dressed for ballet or contemporary like Blaine was used to seeing him. No, instead, he looked more like he was hitting the gangster scene for lack of a better description. He was wearing loose fitting dark jeans with high-top sneakers. His torso was covered first by a dark gray long sleeve shirt and secondly, a black t-shirt depicting a skull on the front. To top the outfit off, he wore a dark jean jacket and a skull printed bandana covered his head. A pair of dark sunglasses were perched atop his head.

 

"Still waiting," Kurt said and startled Blaine out of his staring.

 

"Oh!" the younger man cried. He had the decency to look sheepish a second time. He pulled open the door and gestured for Kurt to head in before him, still wondering what was up with his manner of dress.

 

Blaine stood at the door, subconsciously watching his instructor's backside as Kurt made his way down the aisle toward the stage.

 

The sound of voices snapped him out of it and he cautiously slipped inside.

 

A man with a smirky face and dark brown hair sneered up at Blaine. "And what is a student doing here?" he spat out. It was then that Blaine noticed all the people in the room were academy staff and a few of them were company dancers themselves. He flushed deeply.

 

"I invited him," Kurt said shortly, dropping his dance bag in an empty chair. The smirky man sneered at him. "He was curious how many styles of dance I actually knew," he explained with a shrug.

 

Blaine noted the smirk on the other man's face growing. "One of your students? Perfect opportunity to show him how much you don't know about hip-hop gay face," he said.

 

Hip-hop. Well that explained the reason his instructor was dressed how he was.

 

"Bring it Smythe!" Kurt spat back. Smythe. The hip-hop instructor. Blaine decided immediately that he really didn't like the guy.

 

The two of them stared each other down before walking up the steps to the stage where Blaine noticed Santana was standing. Behind her stood a chair on which sat an iPod dock, iPod already plugged in and ready to go.

 

She stuck both hands out. "Okay guys, you remember how this works. You each get thirty seconds at a time to show your stuff through the song. When the song is over, the rest of us vote on who we thought was better." She held out a quarter. "Lady Hummel, as the challenger, you get to call," she said.

 

"Heads," Kurt called as Santana flipped the coin high into the air. She caught it expertly and slapped it down onto the back of her free hand.

 

"It's heads," she said, revealing the quarter. Sebastian groaned and Kurt eyed him for a moment. "Do you want to start or follow?" Santana asked him.

 

Kurt locked his eyes on Sebastian's. "Follow," he said shortly. A chorus of ooooo's went up in the crowd, causing Blaine to realize he was still standing. He quickly dropped into a seat.

 

Santana nodded and turned to Sebastian. "Smythe, the beginning thirty seconds go to you. I have my watch and whenever it's time to change, I will point to your opponent. Are we clear?" Both men nodded and backed away to give themselves space. Santana moved to stand with her finger on the play button. "On your mark, get set, battle!"

 

Blaine watched her press the play button and hip-hop music filled the auditorium. Sebastian immediately began what Blaine thought was supposed to be popping and locking but looked a lot more like he was just wiggling his ass. That was so unattractive.

 

"Cue!" Santana called and Kurt jumped in. He was much more entertaining to watch. It was true his moves were all traditional of hip-hop but at least he was giving variation. Blaine found it hard to take his eyes off him.

 

"Cue!" Santana called again thirty seconds later and this time Sebastian jumped in with a bit of breakdancing. That was too old-school in Blaine's opinion. And this guy was the hip-hop instructor? He was glad he didn't take his class.

 

Another thirty seconds and it was Kurt's turn again. He threw in some robotics and Blaine couldn't keep the dopey grin off his face. The ballet and contemporary instructor knew how to pull off old-school hip-hop and make it look fresh and modern.

 

"Cue!" Sebastian was back to his ass shaking and Blaine wanted to hide his face in his hands. This was really getting just humiliating to watch.

 

"Cue!" Santana called again and Kurt started pulling out all the stops. He did some ass shaking too but on him it both worked and looked tasteful in Blaine's opinion. Though he would never actually say that to Kurt's face. "Last thirty seconds for each of you!" Santana called just before she cried "Cue!" again.

 

Blaine still was less than impressed with how Sebastian was using his last thirty seconds. He hoped he wasn't the only one. He noticed Kurt nod his head slightly to Santana and push the sunglasses down over his eyes. Santana removed the iPod dock from the chair and handed it down to an instructor Blaine didn't know. Kurt sat in the chair.

 

Just in time too. Santana called, "Cue!" one last time and that was when Kurt did something so unique, Blaine saw Sebastian gaping even.

 

He was rolling his arms like rubber and robotically moving his torso while keeping his head and neck in place, swinging his whole upper body in a circle and standing from the chair, proceeding to walk forward as though he were caught in the middle of a movie on slow motion. He backtracked the step a little bit, balancing himself and lowering his body to the floor just with the bending of his knees, keeping the rest of his body rigid before pulling himself back up and doing a sort of move that looked like he was moonwalking in a circle. Santana was counting down the seconds and just as she called one, Kurt gently pressed his jaw with a finger and it swung a bit.

 

The song ended and everyone in the auditorium got up and cheered. Sebastian stood there gawking like he'd never seen anything like that before and Blaine was willing to guess he hadn't. Blaine knew he'd never seen anything like it before either. But that didn't stop it from being positively fascinating.

 

"What the hell was that?" Sebastian finally spit out.

 

Kurt gave him a smug look. "That my so-called hip-hop expert, was a form of hip-hop called animation. Not a lot of people can pull it off," he said.

 

Santana was looking smug herself and Blaine thought she had reason to. It was clear that she was better friends with Kurt than she was with this Smythe guy.

 

"I think I speak for everyone when I say Kurt is clearly the winner," she quipped. Sebastian glared at her.

 

"Not so fast! We didn't take a vote!" Clearly he wasn't going to let this go that easily.

 

Santana sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, if we must. All in favor of Kurt?" she asked. Every single hand in the room, including Blaine's flew up in the air. Santana gave Sebastian a smug look. "Well, there you have it. Kurt beat you again."

 

Without another word she picked up her things and took back the iPod and iPod dock from her colleague before strolling out of the auditorium.

 

Sebastian was fuming. He walked up to Kurt and jabbed a finger in his chest. "This isn't over gay face!" he snapped. "Not by a long shot!" He spun on his heel and stormed out of the auditorium.

 

Kurt waited for everyone to leave, forgetting that Blaine was even there before he collapsed on the edge of the stage. He pulled off his right high-top, teeth gritted. Blaine knew he should probably leave the auditorium and not bother Kurt anymore but he paused by the door and his face filled with concern.

 

Kurt reached over and pulled his bag from the seat in which he'd dropped it. Blaine watched him pull an ice pack out of the bag. Kurt rolled up his right pant leg and Blaine caught sight of the gauze he'd glimpsed the night before. The dancer placed the ice pack on his ankle and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Blaine quietly slipped out of the auditorium.

 

* * *

 

Later, Blaine lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He had another nine in the morning ballet and contemporary lesson the next day but sleep was evading him.

 

Why was Monsieur Hummel making himself dance on an injured ankle? He had to let it heal right?

 

Suddenly, something clicked in Blaine's brain and he jumped up, pulling a box that was stock full of any dance articles he had found in the past couple of years and began rummaging through it. Until, he found what he was looking for.

 

DANCER CRUSHES ANKLE IN LEAP LANDING

 

Blaine scanned the article for the dancer's name as there was no picture accompanying it.

 

Kurt Hummel.

 

It was all there in black and white. And it would explain why he was so harsh and bitter. Monsieur Hummel was the same former company star who had been the one injured to the point of an early ending to his career, landing a routine leap during a performance. He had to be. How many former New York City Ballet stars were there with the last name of Hummel?

 

But why wouldn't he tell anyone?


End file.
